


A Christmas Promise

by scifiromance



Category: Ringer (TV)
Genre: Christmas fluffy one-shot, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiromance/pseuds/scifiromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bridget attempts to give Andrew and Juliet the family Christmas Siobhan always denied them. Bridget/Andrew Set between episodes 9 and 10</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Promise

“Thanks.” Bridget murmured quietly to the driver of Andrew’s company car as she left the plush interior of the vehicle and stepped out onto the sidewalk which ran alongside the gargantuan glass fronted skyscraper which housed Martin/Charles Financial in its premium top floor suite.  
The driver smiled at her warily as he closed the car door behind her. “Merry Christmas Mrs Martin.”  
Bridget flinched at the term “Mrs Martin”. That name, even more so than “Siobhan” or “Shiv”, made her conscience scream that she was a fraud. She’d been called many things in her life, whore, junkie, every four letter word drunken johns and drug dealers could come up with, but she, Bridget Kelly, undoubtedly deserved those. “Mrs Martin” was Siobhan, even if Bridget now seriously doubted her sister’s capability or desire to honour the title, it was still hers. “Merry Christmas to you too.” Bridget replied quickly, struggling to cover up her discomfiture as she pressed a tip into the man’s hand.  
The driver stared down at the notes in his hand for a second, his expression shocked and incredulous as his cold reddened fingers closed around the money. Bridget’s heart clenched in fear, as it always did when some acquaintance of Siobhan looked at her like she’d grown two heads, which in a strange way she had, two lives anyway, one as Bridget, one as Siobhan. The man seemed to get over his shock quickly enough though, stepping away even as he muttered a bemused “Thank you Ma’am”, as if he were frightened she would snatch the money back and take his arm with it.  
Bridget shivered as the car pulled away, tugging Siobhan’s fashionable but not particularly warm coat tighter around her as she carefully manoeuvred her feet, smothered in fur-lined boots which were probably worth more than her childhood home, through the dirt stained slush that still lingered on the sidewalk and into the building’s marble lobby. Consciousness of her inferiority always haunted her here, in this temple to professional luxury, and as such she headed straight for the elevator without pausing to take in her surroundings, a decision she instantly regretted when the smooth doors slid shut and she belatedly realised she was trapped with Olivia Charles of all people.  
“Siobhan!” Olivia exclaimed in that false, insinuating tone she had down to a fine art, arching a perfect eyebrow skyways when Bridget just smiled awkwardly in response. “What reason do you have for deigning us with a visit today?” she asked, her voice remaining silky and unruffled even as her eyes narrowed in suspicion at her business partner’s wife.  
Bridget cleared her throat, one of the most tiring aspects of living as Siobhan was the sheer number of passive aggressive barbs she had to deflect everyday. It almost made her miss the raging, but simplistic outbursts of temper and violence she’d known in countless back alleys, at least she could defend herself there. “I’m meeting Andrew for lunch.” She said with calm honesty, unable to resist shooting Olivia a satisfied look as the British ice queen went momentarily rigid with jealousy.  
“Oh?” Olivia questioned. Bridget noticed the slight hitch in her breathing before she continued smoothly, her eyes hardened with a kind of detached resentment. “Maybe you’ll be able to fit some Christmas shopping in then? I’m sure you’ve been pestering Andrew for a new dress for the banquet tonight, we all know how you love to steal the show!” A thin, patronising laugh left her throat.  
Bridget would’ve been irritated by how Olivia portrayed her as a nagging, spoiled child, but as it was her brain stalled on the word “banquet”, reciting on repeat, what banquet? She couldn’t help her thoughts materialising as a confused whisper, “Banquet?”  
Olivia gave a tinkling laugh, “Oh Siobhan, you can’t possibly have forgotten could you? It was your idea to get Andrew to buy a table! You were always going on and on about how a table at Finley’s Christmas Charity Banquet would increase the company’s standing…” She paused mid flow to give Bridget a taunting glance, “…and your social credence of course.”  
“Of course.” Bridget muttered sarcastically, sighing in relief as the elevator shivered to halt on Andrew’s floor and stepping forward hurriedly onto the plush carpet to escape.  
“You are going aren’t you?” Olivia asked sharply as she also left the elevator and swept off towards her office. “I happen to know how much that table unbalanced the company books.”  
“I’m sure you’ll find some way to claw the money back Olivia.” Bridget replied tightly before letting her gaze drop as she struggled to come up with an explanation for her “forgetfulness”. “It must’ve just slipped my mind, with the baby and all…” Bridget was surprised by the lump which rose unbidden in her throat as she pictured Andrew’s devastated face in the hospital.  
Olivia was caught off guard by the genuine emotion on her rival’s face and awkwardly filled the space left by Bridget’s trailing words with a soft “Yes”. She recovered herself as Bridget looked at her doubtfully and said briskly as she disappeared through her office door, “I’ve already given Andrew my condolences.”  
Bridget shuddered, hoping that the woman had been sincere with Andrew at least, not that she, the junkie in the socialite’s clothing, could pass much judgement on others sincerity. Taking a deep breath to push these thoughts aside while in Andrew’s presence, she slipped quietly through his door, not wanting to disturb some high powered meeting of the sort she was sure Andrew was privy to.   
She found him alone, bent over his bespoke desk and frantically pencilling notes on a pile of papers before him. Her words of greeting died on her lips as she took him in. He looked dishevelled, well as dishevelled as a man in a $2500 suit could look, his tie was askew, his cufflinks had been discarded, leaving the sleeves of his shirt to be pushed up to his elbows, revealing muscular arms that Bridget fought not to envision around her waist. She saw all this, but it was his expression that concerned her, lines of worry and tiredness had crept along his face since he’d left her that morning, and her heart clenched as she wondered why. A tiny sigh, an expression of anxiety, must’ve left her because his face suddenly lifted to meet hers, “Shiv? What are…” Bridget still couldn’t get used to the nervousness, an uncertainty of where he stood with her that always flickered across his face at every sight of her, although she had realised that it no longer lingered there as it once had done. For a reason she didn’t feel able to confront, this thought made her happy.  
“Lunch, remember?” she prodded with a gentle smile and a small laugh she hoped didn’t sound as nervy to him as it did to her.   
“Oh!” Andrew sprang out his seat and headed eagerly over to her, fixing his tie and sleeves as he did so. “I’m sorry love…” He murmured in such a way that Bridget’s skin warmed, and then he chuckled wryly, “You have no idea how many people want to change their financial arrangements before Christmas, they suddenly hate their family or love them again…”  
“Yeah, dysfunctional families, who’d have them?” Bridget remarked quietly, sighing as Andrew’s hand suddenly closed around hers, his dark eyes concerned and searching as he looked down at her.  
“Thinking about your sister?” he asked gently, giving her hand a squeeze.  
As she did constantly while in Andrew’s presence, Bridget asked herself why Siobhan hadn’t given her whole heart to him, he deserved it so much. “Always.” She whispered painfully before focusing on the present again. “I met Olivia in the elevator…” She smirked to herself as Andrew sighed heavily, “…and she mentioned a banquet tonight…”  
Andrew’s expression tensed into the one she now recognised as the one he wore when he was anticipating an argument. “Yes, David Fenley’s. I booked a table six months ago, just like you asked me to.” His tone revealed a definite lack of enthusiasm, even dread, that made up Bridget’s mind.  
“I was wondering if…if we really have to go.” Bridget stammered out, “I mean it’s Christmas Eve! Wouldn’t a quiet night in with Juliet be better?” She didn’t dare look at his face, “And it’s been a hard few weeks, with Gemma’s disappearance and the baby…”  
Andrew squeezed her shoulders in reply and she had to look up at him, struck by the mixture of surprise and relief that had filled his emotive eyes. It was a look she knew Siobhan would have never seen and was dangerous to her, another crack in her false persona, but she loved to see it all the same. “That’s a great idea Shiv…” He said thickly, overcome with emotion, “We haven’t done that in years…” He trailed off, kissing her all too briefly before picking up his Blackberry. “I’ll call Juliet and tell her I’ll collect her from Marisol’s early, after I take you home first, is that okay?” He peered at her anxiously, as if reluctant to believe she’d go along with an idea he liked.  
Bridget looped her arm comfortably through his. “That would be great Andrew, really.” She answered truthfully.

 

Lunch was a quiet, settled affair and before Bridget knew it she was confronted by the familiar and omnipresent portrait of Siobhan’s unsmiling face as she stepped into the Martins’ apartment. As always she shuddered at the sight of it, but Andrew, how had his arm loosely around her waist, misinterpreted the movement for a shiver and glanced at her worriedly, “Cold Shiv?”  
“A little.” She murmured before smiling up at him. “You’d better go to get Juliet before the weather turns snowy again.” She scanned the apartment, which was decidedly lacking in festive spirit, she was staring to regret suggesting a night in. “While you’re gone, I’ll work on making this place a little more Christmassy.”  
A sceptical smile crossed his lips and Bridget belatedly recalled that her sister had never had much patience for Christmas, another way in which they were poles apart. Thankfully, Andrew decided to be amused rather than suspicious, and chuckled, “Alright Siobhan, we’ll see.” With another quick kiss, he headed away to collect Juliet, leaving Bridget alone once more.  
She walked slowly through the apartment, as if seeing it for the first time. Thoughts of Siobhan, of aborted, drunken Christmas celebrations in their childhood home, haunted her like one of Dickens’ ghosts, particularly when she was confronted with the monstrosity which was, according to the designer Siobhan apparently always booked for Christmas décor, the epitome of a modern Manhattan Christmas tree. It couldn’t even in Bridget’s mind be called a “tree”, rather a few artfully arranged silver spikes that were more likely to impale a child than welcome them in on Christmas morning. Certainly it had decorations hanging from it, trinkets of beautiful but soulless glass and metal. It was more a piece of modern art than Christmas fairy tale and Bridget had heard Juliet call it much worse, even Andrew seemed to think it pompous.  
Well, why not change that? Her mind questioned rebelliously. There had to be some proper decorations in this place, remnants of Juliet and Andrew’s childhoods, and what about Christmas cards? She hadn’t seen a solitary one. By this time her thoughts had already propelled her into searching and it didn’t take long to find a neglected cardboard box hidden at the very back of Andrew’s corner of the wardrobe, with the succinct word “Christmas” scrawled across it in Andrew’s familiar handwriting. Tentatively she opened it, only to see a collection of photos, cards and decorations which made her heart twist. Many of the cards had UK postmarks and looked well thumbed by someone, Andrew, even if they’d rarely been exposed to light. Many were for this year, still in the envelopes, banished from Siobhan’s, no her, gaze. Most of the decorations had been handmade to a child’s taste, Juliet’s. Paper stars and angels, glitter gunned baubles and strung out tinsel, it all sang out to Bridget. These meant something, carried memories in them…

 

“Daddy, I don’t see why Siobhan is suddenly so desperate to have family Christmas.” Juliet whined as she stomped into the apartment, “I don’t call her Scrooge for nothing…” She began to continue as she followed her father into the main living space but stopped dead as she saw what was before her. “What the…”  
Bridget hung up the last bauble on the new evergreen hurriedly and turned to face the two Martins, blushing. “Hey, Merry Christmas.”  
Andrew stared at the lush tree and at his many hidden cards in shock before staring at his wife. “How did you do all this? Why?”  
Bridget gave a small shrug, tackling the easier question first. “They still had some real trees in the store down the street.” She explained, “I’ve never had one like this…” She paused, regretfully thinking of previous years when her only contact with Christmas trees was perhaps to curl under an outdoor one while she came off her latest high or recovered from a seasonal beating at the hands of one of her pimps. “I thought I’d like one now.”  
Juliet spoke first, coming forward and fingering a silver angel with her name written on it. “My granny made this for me…” She swallowed thickly and Bridget realised she must be referring Andrew’s mother, “I haven’t seen it for years, not since Mom, and then you, declared it stupid…”  
Bridget squeezed her shoulder lightly. “I don’t think like that any more Juliet, I promise. Nothing made with love looks bad.” She met the eyes of the still shell-shocked Andrew, “I’m sorry to pry in your things Andrew, your family Christmas treasures, I just…”  
At that moment Andrew cut her off with a prolonged, intensely loving kiss, holding her against him even as they broke for air. “You are part of this family darling, never doubt that.” He told her in a firm whisper, “Promise me?”  
Bridget blinked back the tears that began to fall for reasons couldn’t possibly begin to interpret. “I promise.”

 

A/n: PLEASE REVIEW! :D


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